


Last Night I Dreamt That Somebody Loved Me

by ZeRunaway



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: F/M, Homelessness, M/M, Missing Scene, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-27
Updated: 2014-06-28
Packaged: 2018-02-06 10:45:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1855201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZeRunaway/pseuds/ZeRunaway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jesse knows what it's like to have nowhere to go, no home. All too well. Now's not any different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lost

He needed to get out. He needed to get out of this place. Fuck. Where? It doesn’t matter, _just have to get out._

And he’s walking trying to focus on his steps against the sidewalk. And wow the sun is bright and the grass is green and everything has that sour sweet desert and watered lawn smell and it’s like they don’t even know Jane is dead.

But, oh God, she’s dead. She is.

_Because of.._

No. He tries not to fucking think, winces hard and pummels his forehead with clenched fists as if to knock a gear out of his brain so it can stop ticking. But no, that’s not going to work.

He knows something that can work.

But where? He checks his pocket and pulls out a crumpled five. Maybe this could get him something. It would probably be trash and cut with rat poison, but he was a pest that needed to be poisoned.

Where the fuck had she always bought it anyways? He didn’t even know. He made his way to the place most likely.

The Crossroads Motel. Almost felt like a home away from home, he had history with the place. Wendy was here, as usual. He paid her a visit and figured he’d ask her if she knew any dope dealers here.

She stopped mid-sip on her root beer, “That stuff? You sure you want to get into that?”

 _I’m already into it_ , “It’s for a friend. So do you know someone?”

She referred him to some pierced fellas downstairs with gauges the width of his arm. One was a dealer, “I got nothin’ for ya right now my man, but if you can wait till tomorrow I’ll hook you up.”

“Tomorrow? Why?”

“Because I got nothin’ right now dumbass, you deaf?”

“I mean, are you gonna – look, man, I don’t – I can’t wait ‘till tomorrow. Can you just tell me where? Please.”

The group of men laughed, “Look at this junkie idiot. You want it so bad, go to the den. We got a guy that should be holdin’ there.”

“The den?”

\---

More like the shack. The outhouse. The place looked filthy from the outside and he guessed correctly that the inside was five times as bad. Jesse wandered the house cautiously trying not to stand out and be targeted for who knows what. So far everyone just looked like strung out users.

He looked to what was once probably a functional bathroom and saw three pierced and tattooed men that looked similar to the ones that had been at the Crossroads. Jesse guessed one of them was the dealer. He approached timidly and caught the eye of the outermost man with a tribal pattern across his face. “You lookin’ for somethin’?”

Jesse nodded. The tribal-faced man caught the attention of another one and gestured to Jesse. He slithered forward to meet him. He had a scale pattern across his face and arms – hell, probably his entire body.

The man looked like a reptile; Jesse could swear his eyes were slits. He looked at him in a way that made Jesse’s heart ball like a fist and he tried to keep himself from trembling, “I just uh… I’m lookin for some H.”

The lizard, expression unchanging, simply held out his hand – the other in his pocket fiddling with what was likely the product. Jesse tentatively placed the sweaty five he’d been clenching in his pocket on the awaiting claw.

“That it?”

Jesse hesitantly nodded, swallowing nervously and avoiding eye contact.

“You’re short. This ain’t getting you shit.”

“That’s… that’s all I got man…” He pleaded, hoping the guy would at least offer him something else.

There was a flash of change in the way the reptilian eyes looked at him. From blank indifference to predatory. Jesse felt like a lone baby bird, abandoned in the nest, looking into the eyes of a viper. The creature looked him up and down a bared his fangs with a smirk, “Lets work something out then.”

He looked to him with insincere questioning but knew exactly what _working something out_ entailed. The man made a gesture, “Follow.” And Jesse trailed him obediently.

They ended up in a room with a bunch of passed out girls. A drug whore room? Jesse guessed he was about to fit in here in a few seconds.

The man gestured to a dirty futon that already had a girl passed out on it, “Sit.”

Jesse took a deep breath and tried to mentally prepare himself. He sat down and closed his eyes as he heard the jingle of the man undoing his belt. When he opened them he found a cock, _pierced and tattooed and probably sprinkled with STD’s_ , hovering near his face expectantly. Jesse knew the routine. This, unfortunately, wasn’t the first time he had sank this low. He remembered being homeless briefly, after his parents had first kicked him out upon his refusal to steer off the course of his deepening meth addiction. Didn’t want their precious new son growing up around a meth head.

\---

They had given him a couple hundred dollars to “set himself up somewhere”, probably just to make themselves feel better. As if anyone would have sold an apartment to a fifteen year old. He took it as an opportunity for freedom, going on a week bender full of alcohol, weed, and, of course, some fine glass. He crashed at his friends place until he was no longer welcome, then he just settled for crashing at whatever party he’d find himself tweaking at. Next thing he knew he was being kicked out of a stranger’s home with not even a dime to his name.

He panicked. Wandered about the ABQ hopelessly. And the dread and loneliness only made him want more crystal. If he could have a hit… he could focus better, figure something out, feel better. He tried standing outside of the gas station to beg, “Hey yo, I just need to make a phone call could I get like a quarter or two?” was the best story he could come up with. Most people barely looked his way until he gave up. He knew the only options he had for some real money: either stealing something and pawning it for cash or well… pawning himself. Maybe he could find a lonely chick. That wouldn’t be so bad.

It was an idea that took four days of withdrawal and general hunger for him to give up on. Female clients just weren’t as common. He only gave himself a minute to tremble and sob in the bathroom after it was over before he made his way to pick up and soon it didn’t matter. It took care of the withdrawal and the hunger for a few days (though he forced down some _Funions_ and _Pibb Xtra_ from the vending machine so he wouldn’t die). Tweaking gave him the mental carelessness to go through a few more _transactions_. Then more hits. He felt a cycle threatening to take over his life. As fucked as it all was he’d at least made a friend: Wendy. They’d smoke together waiting for customers, she’d talk about her kid, at some point they started to share a motel room. Sometimes they even had sex – crystal always made Jesse horny. As an afterthought Wendy had asked how old Jesse was. Noticing her concern he lied and told her he was eighteen – _very, very, recently_. “Oh, well happy birthday, then.” She offered him a root beer.

He remembered passing out on the crusty floor one night vaguely aware of the squeaking mattress that echoed into his dreams. He remembered hearing a voice weakly protesting, “He’s asleep. You gotta wake him up and ask first. Hey.” He remembered someone tugging on his pants and flashing awake, terrified to see some shirtless, disgusting looking, man over him trying to get his pants off.

He panicked, “Yo what the hell man, get the fuck off me!”

The man was grabbing at his legs trying to still him and he kicked and kicked until one landed square on his face. Jesse scrambled up as the man recoiled grasping at his bloodied nose and cursing. Wendy was nude on the bed watching passively and he could hear his heart pounding in his ears. Deafening.

“I’m gonna kill you, you lil bastard.” The man heaved standing up before the motel room door slammed shut. Jesse had already been leaving.

He gripped the railing and felt his eyes straining from his head. His heart was still pounding. He scurried down the stairs skipping steps when he could and walked and walked not even knowing where he was going.

He clenched his hair tightly between his fingers and whimpered pitifully. He couldn’t keep doing this. Everything was so fucked up. He reached into his pocket to see how much money he had on him. Ten fucking bucks.

He took a deep breath. It was going to be okay. He’d just… he’d find some more money. Wash some car windows or something. Then he’d… then he’d find a place to stay. A real place. He could just lie about his age. Or find a roommate and not have to go through that shit at all. Then he’d just – just get some kind of fast food job for a while. Yeah. Then he could get like a real kind of job. Like, like a bank account-reviewer-person or something. Yeah, yeah, _its gonna be fine_.

First he needed some starter cash. He found himself outside a _7-11._ He waited until a car drove up, headlights igniting his blue eyes. He could see through the window that it was a young woman – an adult but probably only a few years older than him. He looked to her through the windshield, gaze full of pleading, which she noticed and immediately looked uncomfortable. Jesse waited until she was outside the doors before he asked, “E-Excuse me, ma’am-“

“I don’t have any change sorry!” she said with barely any space between the words before rushing inside. Jesse huffed and kicked his feet childishly. He felt tears well up in his eyes but tried to breathe slowly through his nose to stay calm.

When she exited the store he tried again, “Hey –hey. I don’t uh, need money, do you have any, like, cans or something?” He saw the woman physically flinch as he approached her before mumbling ‘sorry no’ and rushing to her car. Fuck. She was scared of him. He must look like shit.

“Fuck this.” _This is stupid._

Clenching his jaw he went near some bushes and withdrew a sandwich bag full of meth from his back pocket. He separated some of the shards in the baggie before grabbing a rock and crushing it up. He sprinkled the dust as best he could onto his palm before sinking his head in to snort it. His head shot back up with the rush and he snarled involuntarily.

And it happened so fast from there. He was panting through his teeth, tucked his hand deep into his hoodie not even caring about how convincing it was, threw open the doors and rushed to the counter, “Empty the fucking register! Empty the fucking register! Do it now!” The coarseness of his voice was alien to his ears.

The man at the counter was immediately confused and terrified, switched from putting his hands up to fumbling with the register, “I-I can’t open it y-you gotta lemme s-scan something.”

But none of this was registering with Jesse who could only think to scream commands, “Give me the fucking money, bitch! You think I’m playing around? Open the fucking register!” He held up his supposed concealed weapon as if he would fire through his pocket.

“O-Okay! I’m d-doing it! I swear!” The cashier fumbled with an _Almond Joy_ to scan and tried to ring it up despite his trembling fingers – causing him to press the wrong buttons.

Jesse was getting impatient and anxious, “I swear to God I will _shoot you in the face_.”

“I’m sorry, oh please, I’m doing it, look, look! There, see?” the register’s tray popped open.

“Put it in a plastic baggie or somethin’ yo, right the fuck now!”

“Okay, okay.” He stuffed the bills into a plastic bag before a flash of red and blue light shined on his face. Jesse looked out to see about three cop cars pulling up.

“Son of a-“ he muttered before grabbing the bag and booking it out the opposite entrance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How did Jesse end up at that crackhouse? How did he get dope with no money? What happened when he first got kicked out? Whats with his relationship with Wendy, how does he know her and why are they friends(ish)?
> 
> I was wondering these things and then this fic happened.  
>  Part two soon! Would have written it all in one go but my hand got tired.


	2. Cold

Jesse felt his gut lurch. He tried hard to think of something else, that he was doing something else, but that was difficult with an acrid _dick_ in your mouth. Abruptly the length withdrew and Jesse coughed with the sudden relief in his throat. Jesse hoped that it was over, that maybe the guy wanted to finish on his face or something – which he doesn’t even know if he’d prefer over his mouth – but instead the man kneels down and starts palming Jesse’s ( _very flaccid_ ) cock through his jeans. _Oh._ So he had intentions beyond a blowjob. Great.

He looked away only to see that a girl in the corner of the room had woken up and was silently, but intensely, watching them. Her eyes were wide and dark, - soulless through the smoke trailing off the cigarette nestled between her fingers. He suddenly felt like she was the devil, watching his lament in hell. This was too fucking weird. He couldn’t do this. Not sober.

He grabbed the man’s shoulder with enough force for him to stop his ministrations and glance up questioningly, “H-Hey, could I do up first?”

The reptile sighed through his nose before withdrawing a tiny tied ball of plastic wrap, black with the product inside, and tossing it in Jesse’s lap.

He fingered the squishy object with longing, “You got some… stuff I could use?”

He cracked his jaw and regarded Jesse closely before rising, “Hold on,” and he walked off to the bathroom and returned with the supplies. He was surprisingly nice about preparing it for him which Jesse had not even asked for. It was probably due to the fact that he was definitely overcharging at this point. Jesse thought that he had better give him more than just one lousy balloon later but knew he probably wouldn’t risk demanding it.

The man tied a yellow sling around his arm and roughly grabbed his wrist to prepare the injection.

“Wa- Wait! I’ll do that.” He could do this part fine himself. Besides, he wouldn’t let anyone else inject him. No one but…

He lined up the silver line with his bulging vein and pressed in, withdrew the plunger slightly, and when he saw red seep into the cylinder he knew to press it down all the way not caring if the strength of the stuff could kill him. He hoped that it would.

He felt shards ice pierce through him from his arm into his entire body and the world was miles below him. In his last moments of consciousness, he thought of her.

 

_There’s a chill, don’t forget it passes, and then….._

_You’ll see._

_I’ll meet you there._

 

\----

He could shake them. He could. Just down a dark alley and into a dumpster. He would make it.

He flung open the doors and outside waiting for him were three more cop cars, and cops, guns drawn, “Drop your weapon and put your hands up! Do it now! Let me see your hands” were some of the thousand phrases being screamed at him by six or so cops. Bastard must have pressed the silent alarm as soon as he busted in.

Well. That’s it. He’s canned. The bag of what was likely only two hundred bucks dropped pitifully to the ground and he raised his hands closing his eyes; hoping he’d open them and wake up on the crusty floor of the Crossroads, Wendy cleaning the vomit off of him telling him he’d drank too much.

But the cops were still shouting, approaching him, “Are you armed? Are you armed?”

“N-No, man-,” before he could finish his sentence his was being knocked to the ground with his arms forcefully folded to his back, “— _Christ!_ Easy! I ain’t resisting, ight?”

Cold cuffs were slapped on him and he was hoisted up by the chain, “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand the rights I have just read to you?”

_Jesus. It was like he was really on_ _Cops_ _._

“Sir, _do you understand the rights I have just read you?_ ”

“Yeah.” He said with a sarcastic, annoyed, tone.

He was brought to stand against a cop car as one of the officers patted him down, “Where’s the gun, kid?”

“I-I told you I don’t got one, I was bluffing.” He growled, silently praying they would somehow overlook what was in his back pocket.

But of course that wasn’t going to happen. He felt the cop reach in and grab it. Pulling it out with an amused laugh, “Wooowee would you look at that! What’s the matter, not making enough peddlin’ your candy?”

“What? No. I’m not a dealer, yo. That’s-,” he caught himself, “ ---I don’t know whose that is.” Then he cursed himself internally for not having thought of the cops accusation himself: he could have sold what he was holding instead of resorting to robbery. Only he was too much of a junkie to have realized it.

“Meth head robbing a convenience store, how original.” Was a remark he heard as he was stuffed in the back and the door slammed behind him. He leaned his face against the window. He was a minor, so they wouldn’t put him in jail, right? What were his parents going to say? They would never let him come back home now, not as a convict. Why didn’t he try going home a long time ago? Why couldn’t he have just said he was sorry? Why couldn’t he have tried to quit? Why did he ever start? The thoughts flooded his eyes and ran down his cheeks. His life was over. He was bawling hard, hiccupping, the two cops in the front seat looked back at him almost sympathetically.

“How old are you, kid?”

“F-fif-te-teen.” He mumbled through salty tears and snot.

“Fifteen, huh? Now why are you out here, one in the morning, trying to rob stores, huh? What would your parents say?”

Jesse wanted to curse the cop out for being so condescending but couldn’t muster the energy for the words.

“You can call them when we get to the station so they know you’re not coming home tonight, alright? You’re in big trouble.”

Jesse just shook his head and all he could manage to say was, “No home.”

A silence hung in the air and the cops seemed to give each other a knowing look.

The siren gave a short chirp before the car pulled back and started off.

\---

For all the shit he was in, it made him feel better to see his parents were in deep shit too. _Abandonment, neglect, and endangerment of a minor_ types of shit. He had told the cops about how he was kicked out, skipped the prostitution parts, and made up a story about how he was hungry and desperate and didn’t know what else to do… and some guy on the street tried to make him do drugs but he said no but the guy must have sneaked them in his pocket anyways. Yeah.

Whether or not that story was believable didn’t seem to matter as much to the cops as they tried to figure out between Jesse and his parents if he was actually kicked out or just a runaway. Eventually Jesse accepted his parents request to talk privately and squared off with them and their fat slob of a lawyer. They pleaded him to “admit” to running off, and that he had been keeping in contact with them up until two nights ago saying he was staying at a friend’s. All complete bullshit. But, in return, they offered him their lawyer to manage his own charges, who was convinced he could get Jesse off nearly unscathed. He dipped his head down and thought about it, and heard his mother’s voice, “Please, Jesse. You know we had no choice, but we never wanted any of this to happen…”

It was bad, but he wanted to punch his mother in the gaddamned face. He wanted to sell them both down the river for throwing him out like trash. It was what the assholes deserved. But he swallowed his hunger for revenge and took the bait they offered. After all, what real choice did he have anyways?

And somehow through a miracle, likely a white upper-class miracle, he managed to avoid criminal charges. Just shittons of fines that his parents would have to worry about, probation, and community service.

When they picked him up from holding they didn’t exchange a word on the drive back. Walking back into his house (which he hadn’t seen in how long he didn’t even know – three months? Six? It couldn’t of been a year already, could it?) was solemn. He looked around, smelled the sickingly artificial clean smell, and made his way to his room that he was nearly shocked to see still there. He thought that maybe his parents would have turned it into a closet or something, eager to erase him from their lives.

Before he could get comfortable his mother was in the doorway with a bunch of flattened cardboard boxes in hand.

“What… are those for?”

“They’re for you to pack your things.” She said setting them down.

“If you kick me out again I swear to God I will go to the cops.”

“We’re not kicking you out, Jesse. You’re going to live with your Aunt Ginny from now on. She’s kindly offered you her home. To stay. Now, gather up whatever you’re going to get. You’re leaving tonight.”

Jesse was too shocked to respond and she was out and away before he had the chance to. He looked down to the floor. Aunt Ginny? Yeah, he remembered Aunt Ginny. She was always nice to him. She would give him “bubblegum money” every time they saw each other. Maybe this was a good thing. Maybe it would be better than being around these dicks.

And yet, Jesse felt a sting of hurt.

He started gathering his things. Some cool posters he would miss, old plane and _Gundam_ models he had made. He considered taking some of the photographs of him as a kid but… nah. He figured he should let his parents keep them. _Don’t let them forget_. Maybe he could take his fish tank.

He approached the enclosure to see how they were doing. The water was foggy. His fish were dead.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I lied, it's a 3-parter.


End file.
